


the chalice of betrayal

by xShieru



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bonding, F/M, Libraries, allusions to betrayal and crushes, could be taken as a platonic thing, when books teach you not to catch feelings but you do it anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-26 17:13:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13862226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xShieru/pseuds/xShieru
Summary: On his quest to find some entertainment inside the Castle of Lions, Lotor stumbles across a library.Allura does not appreciate the company.





	the chalice of betrayal

**Author's Note:**

> s5, take me to lotura hell......  
> unbeta'd and probably lame because writer's block

Allura doesn’t need to turn her head to feel _His_ presence within the vast space of the grandiose hall, the _click-clack_ of metal-plated heels announcing his arrival a few seconds later, echoing against the marble walls. Gait slow, Lotor pauses further away, taken in by the overstuffed shelves containing ancient Altean records and stories. The book spines appear to be brittle and worn-down, exhaling their final, centuries-old breaths, gold letters dimmed due to the hand to hardback contact.

From her periphery, she sees Lotor tilt his head upward, luminous eyes trying to make out the tops of the ginormous shelves, bolted to place by outdated technology that does not require quintessence to hold it together. A cyan barrier presses against the metal skeletons of the intricate shelves, securing their contents in place. It’s a lifesaver during the more dangerous space expeditions whenever the Castle experiences some turbulence.  

For a while, the half-Galra says nothing, skimming over the dusty spines with a bony finger. The action irritates Allura like no other – she doesn’t want right about anyone touching her late father’s prized possessions; there is a reason why she’d claimed this room as off-limits to everyone but herself. Apparently, Lotor couldn’t be bothered with simple house rules but she’d expected nothing less from someone like him.

“Quite the library you got here, Princess,” he offers in a soft voice, supposedly pacifying – as though he’s picked up on Allura’s tensing frame and barely-visible hostility. She’s yet to fully come to terms with the fact that Lotor, the future heir of the Galra Empire, is now an ally to Voltron. To the universe and the destroyed planet of Altea. To her.  “I presumed that Alteans kept their records nice and organized in their valued tech bases,” he hums, a little disinterested. His heels resume the rhythmic click-clacking, bringing him to stand closer to the stiff princess.

She’s not fond of the rude tone spilling into his deep voice, scrunching up her nose in distaste, a frown pulling at her tight-lipped mouth. For the life of her, she cannot find a solid reason for his unwanted presence in her late father’s favored spot – it’s almost as if he’s here to bother her for no reason whatsoever, the same way Lance does whenever he’s feeling a little too brave or lonely. “I don’t believe that it’s up for you to presume, seeing that we both grew up in different parts of the universe,” she snips, voice cold. Lotor doesn’t even twitch, unbothered by the crude dismissal in the slightest. Allura thinks that he’s developed a thicker skin after being confined in that cell for so long – at this point, there’s absolutely nothing that she can say that’d make him react. She’s sent harsher words and scalding remarks Lotor’s way in the past, some she’s not proud of, the more hurtful ones centered on their racial differences and upbringing.

With a sigh, she relents, “…my father enjoyed collecting books. Said that there’s far more value to them, more than there could ever be on the screen of one’s reading pad. I’ve been trying to preserve the tomes by not touching them,” Allura raises her voice when she catches Lotor’s spindly fingers snaking closer to the shelve sitting directly before them, eyes focused on a thick, royal-blue tome – an anthropological study of Gaja peoples’ tribe. “And keeping this area off limits,” Lotor has his back turned to her, long strands a silver veil shrouding his torso. With a deep sigh, the princess decides to cut to the chase, “How’d you even find me and why did you come here in the first place, Lotor?” her tone becomes laced with wariness once more, one that makes the Galra prince shift his stance, pale eyebrows raised.

“Well, for one I got really bored,” he drawls out almost-casually, leaning in forward as if to inspect something over Allura’s shoulder. The sudden proximity makes her take a hesitant step backwards. “And I don’t think any of the Paladins would appreciate my company at the Lounge. So I decided to take another route and stumbled across this rather majestic room. I didn’t think anyone else would be there.”

“Wasn’t there a security barrier guarding the entrance?” Allura questions, shooting the faraway exit a confused look. No such thing greets her field of vision.

“You must’ve forgotten to reset it up upon entry, Princess,” Lotor answers with a light shrug and straightens up, giving her space.

“Oh,” is all she says, though she could’ve sworn that she didn’t forget – by now it was like a ritual for her, one that always ensured that no one would come barging in on her safe haven whenever she meditated or simply needed an escape from the rowdy group of teens that were the saviors of the universe or her overbearing caretaker. Lotor seems to be a crafty one, breaking down a lock of this level would be a child’s play for him, but alas she has no evidence to call him out on it.

“Please forgive my interruption, Princess,” Lotor apologizes, bowing at the waist. The action seems too gallant to be wholly genuine, or perhaps she’s being too hard on the Galra, the same way that she was when she first found out about Keith’s heritage. She’d promised herself that she would never walk that path again, yet here they were. “If you wish to see me leave, then I shall head back to my quarters.”

Without waiting up for her, Prince Lotor nods in her direction and sets to make his leave, not bothering to hear out the Altean girl’s response. The surge of guilt is fast and intense, gripping at Allura’s chest like a vice and forcing her to turn on her heel fast enough to make her head spin. “Please! You don’t have to leave. I didn’t mean to sound so… crass. You may keep me company,” she trails off, a bit uncertain as to why she’s even offering it when she knows that she’d much rather be alone. Lotor makes her feel… strange, uncertain of herself and her leadership qualities, decision making. It has put her at odds with Shiro in the past, some arguments threatening enough to nearly jeopardize their diplomatic missions.

She cannot get a read on this… this Galra male whenever she encounters him in less-official situations, his face void of discernible emotion and his eyes often displaying something that doesn’t quite match up with his expression. He’s so unlike anyone Allura’s ever met, yet their similarities and differences are impossible to overlook, somehow managing to bring them closer.

Their shared thirst for knowledge has brought them here together, in her father’s library, as well. Lotor listens to her slightly desperate plea, an attempt to make him stay without feeling even worse afterwards. Anxiety gnaws at her stomach and the fact that she can’t see his face only adds to the uncomfortable sensation, but then Lotor throws that seemingly practiced smile over his shoulder and nods, “It’d be an honor.”

* * *

 

The next few hours are spent in complete silence with Lotor searching for interesting reading material and Allura leafing over some old logs to help her with her future diplomatic journeys, studying the cultures and traditions of various races. It’s not until she hears Lotor use the ladder to get to a higher shelf that she looks up, wide-eyed, “Be careful, it’s unsteady – “

But it’s a little too late. Lotor tries to balance his weight on the rusted construction, eyes growing comically wide and his struggling only adds to the ladder’s rapidly-approaching demise. The metal piece supporting Lotor’s right foot falls right off, taking the extra weight with it. Without putting any thought into it, Allura instinctively hops out of her chair and slides under the ladder, colliding with the Galra prince’s body.

Being a soldier and all, Lotor has managed to balance himself mid-fall - a feat that likely wouldn’t have resulted in any serious injuries with or without Allura’s help.  The princess finds herself awkwardly dipping the heir of the Galra Empire, hands pressed into the ridges of cool, sleek armor covering his broad back, supporting Lotor’s center of gravity and thus his weight. The latter has clawed at Allura’s shoulder to stop the momentum, left hand sliding down to her tense bicep to hold himself up and keep balance and the right pressing a thin book to his chest, its cover portraying the shadowy figures of an inter-species couple sharing a swingset.

Allura’s eyes scrutinize the ratty novel, not noticing the awkward pose and the fact that Lotor wasn’t exactly rushing to extract himself from Allura’s arms, oddly quiet, the black of his pupils spilling into the indigo-cobalt blue irises, eclipsing them like tiny moons.

Lotor clears his throat at the same time Allura gasps and lets him go in favor of carefully prying the book from the Prince’s claws. The said prince collides with the marble floor, ass-first, the sheen of his silken hair splaying out around the crown of his head like a snowy halo.

“I haven’t seen this book since I was a child!” Allura exclaims excitedly, gently stroking over the purplish-brown cover. The letters of the title are barely discernible and she’s far too afraid to open it, too aware of the novel’s poor condition. “I thought I’d lost it!”

“Yeah, well,” Lotor mumbles, disgruntled, and pulls himself up into a seated position, brushing off the dust covering his arms, “It was here all along.”

Allura halts mid-step, en route towards the stacked up table. “Why this children’s book?” she asks, curious. “I’m aware that there’s better reading material out there,” she adds with a smug smirk and Lotor actually rolls his eyes at her, standing up in one fluid motion.

“Back when I was a kid, it was my favorite book. I wasn’t aware that there were any remaining copies,” he presses a hand into the desk’s surface to look at the said book, now placed on the table like some timeless relic. It might as well be one.

“The stories were a bit too macabre for my tastes, but I very much enjoyed reading them before bedtime,” Allura laughs as Lotor fixes her with a slightly taken-aback stare, mouth parting a little. “I was the best at telling spooky stories thanks to it. Marji’oz was a genius of his time.”

“He was a traveler as well as an explorer,” Lotor says, a little fondly. This time, Allura is the one pinning him down with a scandalized look. “Most of these stories are native folk tales with a darker twist to them. Several are of Galran origin,” even Lotor seems to hold enough respect for the item, trying very hard not to needlessly touch it.

“I cannot begin to imagine which ones,” Allura trails off, “most of the races described here are entirely made up.”

Lotor shoots her a secretive half-smirk in reply, pressing his lower back into the table for support, arms crossing over his chest. “Try and guess, Princess,” he offers. “Perhaps you’ll land a correct answer.”

“I hardly remember any of the story names…” Allura starts but Lotor cuts her off, chin tilting upwards just a little. A silent challenge.

“That’s quite alright, I think I have most of it memorized. I was a bit of an… obsessive child. Just describe the plot and I’ll guess it right away.”

* * *

 

The more they converse about those old, slightly morbid stories, the more Allura remembers, getting in touch with her old memories from back when Altea was still prosperous and everything was alright in the world. Lotor stays true to his word, picking up on the princess’ vague descriptions without any additional effort or thinking. It’s refreshing, talking to the Galra Prince like this, sharing stories of their childhood, on how they came across this book in the first place. She feels their strange connection growing closer, their loose threads weaving together into a tight rope of faint mutual understanding, realization that perhaps their cultures aren’t so different after all.

“Which story was your favorite?” Allura asks after a while, seated next to Lotor on the table, her study materials pushed to one side.

The Prince hums while Allura knocks the sides of her white boots together, observing the action. They don’t have much time to spend together – they’ll be needed at the control room in a few to go over their future mission details and other debriefing complexities.

“I think it was called “The Chalice of Betrayal”,” Lotor says, long fingers brushing over his sharp chin. Allura’s eyes follow the action, mindless. “Do you remember it?”

“Not well, no,” Allura shakes her head, earrings bobbing. “Care to remind me?”

“Certainly,” Lotor says. “It was the one with the Princess and her suitors. On the princess’ 515th birthday, her father threw a magnificent ball, the most notable one on thier planet. At this ball, she was supposed to meet her Chosen one. Many wanted to marry the princess, if not for her mediocre looks, then certainly for glory and title. There was one suitor in particular who sweet-talked her throughout the entire night, took her out to dance and swore that his love for her was true, one that would last until his final breath,” despite the beginnings of recognition igniting in Allura’s eyes, Lotor does not stop in his tale, “Taken in by his dedication, the princess believed him, and on the fortnight, they got engaged. But on the day they were set to marry, the princess overheard her fiancé talking with his friends. He told them that he hated her more than anything and that he wished for this marriage farce to be over and done with so that he could kill the King during the feast, and then his beloved wife as well, usurp the throne for himself. Broken by this secret conversation, the princess was at a loss of words. That night, she invited him to her quarters, presented him a poisoned chalice and asked him to drink from it _only_ if he truly loved her. The Princess told her lover that it was a Banria elixir -  one that would cause him unspeakable agony for days to come. It was the perfect opportunity to test his loyalty for her. Without batting an eyelid, he took the chalice from her hand and bravely drank the poison, shocking his lover. By the time she came back to her senses and rushed out to get help, the fool was already dead on the floor. Struck by her own grief and guilt, the princess poisoned herself a day later, eager to be reunited with the lover who, despite having ulterior motives, had unknowingly given up his life for her approval.”

For a moment, Allura remains quiet, thinking about the moral of the story, finding it to be a bit too warped. “It’s hard to believe that he’d developed feelings for his “beloved”,” she says, twiddling her thumbs. “I don’t think he would’ve drunk from the chalice if he knew that the poison was strong enough to kill him.”

“And I think that man was an utter fool,” Lotor cranes his neck to face his conversation partner a bit better. “If you read the story more carefully, you notice that over the course of his stay at the castle, he slowly warms up to his future wife. He gets easily swayed and strays away from his initial goal. In the end, his treacherous feelings cause his downfall. A fitting end for a foolish man.”

“But wouldn’t that mean that the message of this story is that love conquers all? Even the worst and ill-fated intentions?”

“Rather than that, I think it directly translates to “love will cause your downfall”,” Lotor pushes himself away from the table, moving to stand in front of Allura, their height difference forcing her to look up to meet his gaze. For a long moment, they regard each other, tension surfacing in the air between. Lotor leans closer at the same time the Altean girl ducks her head, shoulders nearly brushing her earrings. White hair obstructs her vision as the Galra simply reaches around her for the book, words barely a whisper in her ear, “I firmly believe that even the ones that we love the most can turn into our enemies at a moment’s notice. You cannot trust anyone, especially if there are high stakes involved. This love,” involuntarily, Allura shudders. Lotor’s breath feels cold rather than warm, raises goosebumps along her skin. His fangs gleam in the cyan light, “mutual or otherwise - it will momentarily blind you, distract you, and before you know it, it’ll be far too late.”

And then he’s out of range once more, pushing the crummy book filled with poisoned love and betrayal into Allura’s slack hands, regarding the Altean with an indecipherable stare. “Read over it once more, Princess, I’m sure that even _you_ will be able to notice it.”

His gloved fingers linger on the dark skin of her curled palms, pressing into them to secure the Princess’ grip on the book. She looks up then, doe-eyed and confused, something haunted flashing in her eyes. Lotor only steps back, leaving her to her own devices. “However, don’t take too long. We have to be in the Control room in a few ticks.”

Her free hand grips at the garment hanging off Lotor’s sharp hips when he moves to leave, the texture rough, battle-hardened. “It appears that we won’t ever see eye-to-eye, Prince Lotor,” Allura says, eyes downcast, and Lotor gently pries himself away, smoothing the fabric down.

“It seems that we won’t,” he agrees, and with that, he’s gone, metal-plated boots clicking against marble, echoing in the hallway outside the library.


End file.
